never heeard tell o'
fouks maimin' theirsens in looike faashion; thee'ud best get paarson ter
mak' t' verse reet;" and John walked away to his work with new thoughts
stirring in his breast; and a tenderness, to which it had long been a
stranger, swelling within his heart at the remembrance of his suffering
wife, who was so earnest in her purpose of breaking through the power of
evil habit, and, at all costs, finding her way into the kingdom of
heaven.

"T' lass shall not goo alone," was his decision at length, and John
Ibbetson made up his mind that next Sabbath he and his wife would walk
up the hill in company, and for the first time since their marriage,
enter the house of God together.

The news spread like wildfire through the village that "John Ibbetson's
lass had well-nigh burned her hand ter t' bone for tamperin' wi' t'
drink agaain;" and in the forenoon of the same day, the neighbour who
had persuaded Sarah Ann to accompany her to that special service where
a new life had dawned for her some months before, called to see what
truth there was in the tale.

As soon as she had entered the door Mrs. Ibbetson greeted her.

"Aw thowt thee 'ud coom, Jane; hast t' heard aw got at t' drink last
een? but," she said, holding up her mutilated hand in triumph, "Aw've
gi'ed un a good waarmin' for its sen."

"Eh, but it's an awfu' burnin'!" exclaimed the neighbour; "dost think,
thou poor lass, at 'll keep thee from t' drink?"

"If it doesn't, then aw mun cut un off, for t' Book saays it, and aw'm
bound to mind what t' Book saays," answered Mrs. Ibbetson.

"Saarah Ann," said her startled neighbour; "If thee thinks 'at t' good
Looard bids thee hurt and maim thysen, thou'st maade a mistaak."

"Nay, Jane, didn't preacher saay t' other neet from t' Book: 'If t' reet
haand offeend thee, cut un off'? ay, and aw foound un, and reead un
mysen when aw coomed hoom, and it's no mistaake, lass," said Mrs.
Ibbetson eagerly.

"But thee hast maade an awfu' mistaake, Saarah Ann; t' wooards be there,
sure enoogh, but they doan't mean fowks mun goo cuttin' and hackin' at
their own flesh. T' blessed Looard were poonished for t' sin o' t'
world, and we've no reet ter be thinkin' we mun poonish oursen for our
fro'ard waays."

Puzzled and dumbfounded, poor Sarah Ann looked at her visitor for a
while, and then asked despondingly:

"And what do yond woords mean, Jane?"

"Aw'll mak' it plaain ter thee, Saarah Ann; see here! t' knows t' go